


Hurricane

by Ahardboiledegg



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Characters may be added as the story continues, F/M, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Mental Illness, Night Terrors, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-24 23:50:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13822047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahardboiledegg/pseuds/Ahardboiledegg
Summary: Everything comes back around, even the memories you store so far back, you sometimes forget they're there. No matter how strong you think you are, things can always come back to haunt you.But sometimes, you have someone to help, and she will make all the difference.





	Hurricane

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic that I'm writing that I plan to have more than one chapter. After this, there may be one or two more. I totally accept constructive criticism, so write me a comment or send in a message!  
> Cheers!

He was never quick to explain what happened, always turning and shaking his head, waving his hands in indifference and trotting away around the console, making excuses that spilt from his lips easier than Clara had ever imagined possible.

The Doctor always avoided her questions of the Time War, about what had happened, about what he had seen and what he had done. He tip-toed around her words like bombs, like if he stepped too close, that it could start _all over again_. 

He hid himself away, some days. Others he was bouncing off the walls, babbling and grinning like usual, grabbing at her hand and lacing their fingers and helping her fly the TARDIS. If emotional whiplash could be diagnosed, Clara would swear she had it, but to see how his eyes darkened, how his demeanor changed and how his shoulders fell, she believed she could tolerate anything he threw at her.

She was never able to get him to speak on it, and he knew that she noticed the shift, and continued to prod none-the-less. She was impossible on this level too, and how her dark eyes grew worried, how her lips were tight in a frown, it made his chest ache.

“ _I'm fine_.” He swore to her, and the words left his lips as a lie that they both knew. 

“ _Okay_.” She had responded, word barely a whisper—another lie that fell flat in the air, but neither of them moved to fix it, moved to say anything.

_They couldn’t._

* * *

Clara had settled into the room that the TARDIS had set up for her. She wasn’t usually one to stay overnight _(day? Time is weird)_ in the TARDIS, but the day had been long, and her arms and legs felt like concrete from all the running and climbing she had done, so maybe the extra few steps she saved walking from the console room to here rather than to her flat had been worth it.

She had shoved on a t-shirt and sleep pants, slippers on her feet as she padded across the room and climbed onto the bed provided for her. Slowly, she toed the slippers off and leaned back into the pillows, brown eyes falling shut as she did so, duvet pulled loosely across the span of her body. The warmth of the room and the bed, the tiredness in her limbs and the exhaustion of her mind quickly pulled her under and she slept, quiet. 

The TARDIS was always quieter as Clara slept, her hum was low and even as the time passed them, slow in the vortex. They were safe, the TARDIS was sure of it, but the screams that soon filtered through the halls of the machine seemed to say otherwise. 

Clara jolted as the TARDIS slammed the door to her room open, only to allow the sound of choked screams and thumping to reach her, and she was out of bed in a moment, completely forgoing the idea of slippers to instead, burst from the room.

Her footsteps were loud slaps on the metal floor as she ran, blindly and feeling against the walls, hoping the TARDIS would urge her where to go, since all she could focus on was the panic in that voice, the fear in those screams—The Doctor’s screams. 

They were muffled by the time she had gotten to a large, wooden door, open already, and in looking in, she found the library. Socked feet peeked out from behind a bookcase and horror thrummed in Clara’s chest—maybe she was too late, he had gotten hurt, was gone, and it was over. 

She swallowed that fear and took slow, measured steps into the room until she got to that particular bookcase, and with a shaking hand, she held onto it and looked around.

Clara found the Doctor on the floor, surrounded by books, a blanket balled up in his own shaking hands, eyelashes fluttering as he clenched and unclenched his fists around the thin fabric. His eyes were closed, but she could see his chest rising and falling in panicked breaths, toes curled. 

“What is going on?” She asked herself, shifting to kneel beside him, feet curled under her small form, and she gently took his hands, pulling them away from the blanket. His knuckles had turned white. 

“Doctor.” Her words were whispered, as to not scare him anymore than he already was, and she placed the blanket down, moving to gently shake his shoulder, her other hand soothing over his shaking own.

It took a bit of coaxing, but he soon woke up, blinking sleepily at Clara before giving a small grin. “Fell asleep reading again, eh?” 

Clara furrowed her brow at how casual he was, especially because all of ten minutes ago, he was screaming bloody murder in his sleep. 

“Doctor,” She started out soft, a weak smile on her lips as he looked over his tired expression—she forgot that Time Lords don’t need as much sleep as humans did, and the Doctor seemed to push himself to the limits of that. “You were screaming. I heard you in my room, the TARDIS led me here to find you.”

She was surprised to see him knit his brows together and sit up, his hair all fluffed around and his shirt untucked, “You said I was screaming?” He asked lowly, shifting so he could grab both of her hands in his own. “And you’re sure you didn’t see anybody leaving as you were coming into the library? I could have sworn we were set for the vortex…” The last bit was more of a murmur for himself, his head dipping as he slipped into thought, and Clara nodded at each question. 

“We’re still in the vortex, nobody would be able to get in here, ‘s just me and you. You were screaming in your sleep, Doctor, what the hell were you dreaming about?” She asked, and he gave a small shrug, brushing his hair up off his forehead before shifting to stand. “Maybe you should go to the medical bay? Jus’ scan yourself down to make sure everything’s alright, you know?”

He was reluctant to agree, since he had a sticky feeling what was going on, but Clara was a persistent one, always had been, so he gave a small nod, offering a hand to her to help her up as well.

“I’m sure it’s nothing.” He insisted, though it seemed that it was mostly to himself, “I’m fine, I know I am. It’s fine.” Clara watched as he gathered his shoes from the floor and stuffed them back on, looping and tying the laces before he looked back to his smaller companion. She took this as her cue to follow and did just that, though the silence as they walked was thicker than she had expected. 

Worry sat in her stomach and she fiddled with her hands as the two of them found the metal door that served as the entrance to the medical bay on board. The door slid open with a soft hissing sound, and the sterile white of the room made Clara sigh. They seemed to make use of this room rather often, but the many times she had been in there never got easier—it smelt like rubbing alcohol and each surface was spotless. She never cared for hospitals too much. 

She stood to the side as the Doctor rummaged through drawers and cabinets before settling on one and pulling out some sort of headband. It had two pressure sensors on the temples and one at the center of the forehead, and the Doctor gave a small grin as he hopped up onto the examination table. “Care to help me out with this one, Clara?” 

The smaller woman could only roll her eyes at the Doctor’s grin, and agreed, taking the controller that was set to the headband, and helped him put it on, adjusting the pressure sensors to where they should sit. “Good?” She asked with a careful look, and she gained a nod in response, making her smile.

“Just hit the green button, yeah? That’ll do the scan, and we’ll be able to see what was causing all that ruckus.” The Doctor explained to her, wringing his hands together as he watched her with the remote. She nodded and did the scan as requested, the machine blinking and buzzing in her hands before going silent and dark.

“Oh. That’s not...” He started, before it blinked back on. The Doctor was quick to snatch the remote away from Clara and furrowed his brows at what it said before quickly shutting it off and pulling the band off as well. “Just like I thought, I’m fine.” He was quite good at lying, really.

Clara was quite good at seeing through those lies, though. 

“Oh yeah?” She asked, shifting to stand in front of him, her hands finding his knees to give them a squeeze. “Because that look doesn’t quite say fine to me, it says not good, worried, what do I do. So, you better start talking, chin-boy, or I’ll find out myself.” 

She only wanted to help, really. She was worried for him, and she was never quite sure how to go about these things. 

He was doing his best not to meet Clara’s eyes, which only heightened the worry in her belly, making it do flips. Did he have some sort of neurological illness that was untreatable? Would he die? What would happen to them? She could feel her hands start to shake and she grabbed his chin, forcing him to look her in the face. 

“Doctor, tell me what it said.” Her words were low and shaking, her eyebrows furrowed as she got on the toes of her feet to lean into him, her other hand braced on his knee still. 

“It’s…not as bad as I’m making it seem, I swear.” He promised to her, locking their eyes so she knew he was being at least partly truthful.

“Then what is it? What is it that you’re so afraid to tell me?” Clara asked him, intense, brown eyes glued to his face as she looked him over for any signs of illness. The hand holding his chin moved to gently cup his cheek, her fingers still shaking with the anxiety running through her at the moment. 

He was afraid to seem weak, he always was. He was proclaimed this, this savor of the universe, this madman in a box who would help and protect and save, god, he would save whoever he could, whenever he could do it, someone who was not weak. But here he was, sitting on the cold, metal table of the TARDIS medical bay, being foolish and being weak. 

“Night terrors.” He murmured, head dipped as if he was ashamed of what he was admitting, “I’ve been having night terrors for…a long while now, Clara, and usually you aren’t around to hear or see them, and...” 

Clara cocked her head before she fell into understanding. She shushed him and let her thumb rub against the high point of his cheek, a small, gentle smile decorating her face—an aid of comfort. 

“That’s alright, ‘s alright.” She said lowly, looking over his face and watching as their gazes met once more. He was a bit more relaxed after having admitted to what was plaguing him during his sleep cycle, but she still didn’t know exactly what was causing them, which was holding her back from what she wanted to do—help. 

“Do you remember anything from the night terrors? Something that might help figure out what’s causing them?” She asked, and he was quick to shake his head, which planted doubt in her mind. He knew, of course he remembered what happened in those terrors, but to recount them to Clara would bring them into the light, to count them as reality.

There was a pause between them as Clara continued her gentle rubbing of his cheek, and he let out a sigh. “I don’t remember all of them, or what happens the whole time, but they…have to do with the Time War, Clara. What I did, what I saw, who I…killed.” His words were choked in his throat, coming out in a gravely whisper, and each word sat like a rock in the bottom of the human’s stomach. She closed her eyes and stilled her hand, dropping back to her heels, so their faces weren’t as close.

“Doctor…why didn’t you tell me?” She wasn’t insulted, didn’t feel betrayed or anything of the sort, she only felt horrible that he had to go through this all alone, that she had never known so she could have never helped.

She knew he would never admit it, she knew that he would not let those words leave his lips, at least not yet. Not now, not here. But she knew what he should say, and she understood.

_(“I’m afraid, Clara.” He would say, voice cracking as he dragged his eyes away from her own.)_

He had suddenly found something very interesting about his shoes, and Clara took this opportunity to rest their heads together, her free hand finding one of his, to lace their fingers together and give a gentle, reassuring squeeze. 

The silence around them was not uncomfortable, and the warmth of their hands made the cool air of the med bay more tolerable. She wracked her brain on what to do, what this could add up as, and she realized what it could be. If he were human, at least. She had not a clue how Time Lord psychology worked, and she didn’t even know if he knew either. 

“Post-traumatic stress disorder.” She decided on, her eyes closed as they stood together, her hips between his knees, foreheads pressed, hands together. She could tell he didn’t like that idea, no sir, but it was all she could think of. 

“You’ve isolated yourself for days, you have a time machine, you could do it without me knowing. You have trouble sleeping, you, you’re so risky with what you do, how you act, you act like the whole damn war is your fault.” 

“Well, that’s just me. The, uh, risky part. Just that.”

“And the rest?” She asked, eyes open now, pulling away from their connection.

“That’s all…. residual. From…well, you know.” He sighed deep in his chest, kicking his feet a bit. He felt almost like a child in time-out. _Almost._

Clara patted his cheek before letting her hand fall, settling on his knee. “What do we do, then? There doesn’t happen to be some form of…space-therapy, is there?” She asked him, eyebrows raised as she thought about it.

He couldn’t help the chuckle that passed his lips at her naming. Space-therapy? Just regular therapy, but, you know, in space. He knew of a few places, but he never stayed still enough to be able to go back over and over—he wasn’t too fond of the idea of sticking around in one area like that, especially if it’s just all based on what he needs.

“No, no space-therapy, no medication or…all that.” He decided quickly enough, shaking his head. He had avoided this problem for this long, he could keep it up. But the progression was there—more dreams and more isolation and his behavior continued to become more and more risky as time passed. He knew it would all come to a head one day, a breakdown of some sort, and with someone who had such power like he did, the events could be catastrophic. 

“Maybe…if you told me about it?” Clara asked softly, eyebrows furrowed as she searched his face for something to do, to say. “If you tell me, then you won’t have to go through this alone, we could figure it out together—I could help you.” She promised softly, and she would do her best to live up to that promise, too. 

The Doctor smiled at her offer and squeezed her hand, his free hand going to rest on top of hers. “Clara, the atrocities that I witnessed, the pain that I caused and the hurt, I…I don’t want to have to give you those memories.”

She gave a short huff and offered up a small grin to match his own. “Hey, maybe we can work up to that, ‘kay? But we got to figure out something to help, I don’t want you screaming in your sleep, you know? It’s terrifying to wake up to.” She joked quietly, and he joined her in a short chuckle. “I’ll stay with you for a bit, how’s that?” She asked, patting his knee, “I’ll stay here with you, an’ make sure you don’t have any more night terrors. The TARDIS definitely made my bed big enough for two, so you’re welcomed to join me.” 

Clara was offering to stay with him, in the TARDIS, to take care of him. He was always the one who was doing the ‘taking care’, he was the one who watched after people, who kept them safe and who made people happy, but…maybe it was time for him to get taken care of. 

“That’d be good, yeah. Maybe…maybe that’d help.” He accepted her proposition and gave a small, tired smile to her. “Could we start that now? I hadn’t really gotten much sleep there—wasn’t actually planning on falling asleep at all.” 

The human gave a laugh and nodded, disconnecting herself from the other. “Yeah, an’ you did wake me up, Doctor, so that’d be good on both our parts.” She admitted, a little yawn sneaking out of her, as her worry and anxiety had drained, leaving her feeling tired once more. 

“Meet me back in my room, go put on pajamas, or, whatever it is you sleep in. No nude, you have’ta have something on, got that?” She teased, offering up a grin. He chuckled back to her with a nod and a small, mock salute. 

“You’re the boss, Clara.”  



End file.
